Direction

I wasn't lying about hijacking a ferry and meeting you in the middle of Lake Eerie; you waiting for me in a speed boat.

We're poor.

I am always late.

And am in need of a mathematician to solve all my problems.

But I think it would be nice to camp in a homemade shelter made out of logs, trees, and branches with a campfire in front of us.

Laying low, but cherishing each second.

Warmth is a feeling I had forgotten about; the damp cold seeped through my fingertips and into my vital organs.

Everything seems to be thawing out and coming back to life.

But when I become an asshole, and tell you "GO FUCK YOURSELF!  Please just leave me alone." because of the throwing up and cold sweats, break a branch off a tree, and smack my face with it.

We will both feel better about ourselves and make bloody marys out of my blood for breakfast and garnish it with a stalk of celery.

I hope you accept my apology.

Cloaked in the campfire perfume.

This will be the start to a brand new life.